Rounds
by jake67jake
Summary: Making her "rounds," as Jane thought of it, had started when she was a teenager. After work, she would be too alert to go straight home to bed, so she would drive by her friends' homes, even the high school, making sure all was secure. It was something she had never discussed with anyone, even her best friend, Maura Isles. Rizzles endgame. First posted story.
1. Chapter 1

Jane Rizzoli slowed her car as she turned onto the quiet block in Beacon Hill. It was late—or rather, early—and there were no lights visible in any of the homes on the entire street. Focusing her senses, the detective virtually coasted past the brownstone, noting nothing amiss. Making her "rounds," as Jane thought of it, had started when she was a teenager, working late at the various part-time jobs she had held. After work, she would be too alert to go straight home to bed, so she would drive by her friends' homes, even the high school, making sure all was secure. By that age, she already knew she wanted to be a police officer, so she considered this part of her training: quiet, observant patrol routes past the homes of those she held dear, or places that were significant. It was something she had never discussed with anyone, her mother, brothers, or even her best friend, Dr. Maura Isles. Driving relaxed her, and seeing the silent, dark homes of her friends and family reassured her that all was well.

The habit had continued into adulthood, albeit less consistently. She uneasily reflected on the days after Charles Hoyt and her desperate need to make sure that her family was safe; driving the city for hours and hours in the night, before heading home for a few hours of nightmarish sleep. Awaking for therapy—both physical and mental—and wandering thoughtlessly through the motions, only to repeat her rounds the next night, certain that there was danger just out of sight. The serial killer safely dead did not lessen her anxiousness at her memories of him; and there were still nights when she woke screaming, feeling the scalpels piercing her hands again as if it just happened—not years in her past. Nowadays, she usually only drove rounds when she'd had a rough day, or a tough case, or—to be honest—a Hoyt nightmare; those nights when Maura's duties ended well before hers, she and the doctor didn't have any standing plans, or her own mind drove her out of bed in a frenzy. The detective tried not to think too hard about anything while she drove, the point was to relax and observe. However, any time she neared the doctor's home, her thoughts automatically focused on her beautiful friend: the way her eyes twinkled when she caught onto a joke, how her honey-blond hair was always perfect and Jane wondered if it could feel as soft as it always looked, the "Jane-only" smile that lit up her whole face and made the detective's heart flutter just a bit, the perfect shape of her body... No, these were not the kind of thoughts that she needed to be having about her best friend. Not when there was a case to solve and a killer to be caught. And no, not after either. Maura Isles was her friend, her best friend, and driving by Maura's home at "oh-dark-thirty" was nothing more than the detective assuring herself that her part of the world was right. She would keep telling herself that. Jane looked back through her rearview at the doctor's home before breathing a heavy, exhausted sigh and turning at the next corner to head to her own apartment.

~~~~~ Rizzoli & Isles ~~~~~

"Still no hits on Ronald Carson?" Jane asked Frost, walking over to his desk to put a fresh cup of coffee in front of him. She leaned over his computer, trying to decipher the information. There were several windows open with various reports, and a digital map of Boston with different colored points spread over what looked like the entire city.

"I told you I would call you, Jane," Barry returned, reaching gratefully for the caffeine. He was tired, and his eyes were burning from staring at the screens trying to will information to appear. They had been on this case for nearly a week. The irony was—they knew their murderer's identity; they just couldn't _find_ him. A BOLO was issued on his vehicle, APBs sent to the State Police and surrounding suburbs, and notices sent to the airports, bus  & train stations, and even the local taxi companies. After murdering his wife, presumably for the $1 million life insurance money, Ronald Carson had simply vanished. Frost had flags on his bank accounts and BPD patrolmen were watching his known associates. Yesterday, there had been a brief press conference asking the public to report any sightings of the suspect. Calls had flooded in, and extra officers were utilized to follow-up on each lead, all to no avail. Every call was a dead end.

"How can this guy just disappear?" Jane groused. "He's a nobody. He's a con artist, no job, no real money, no real friends." She stomped to her desk and threw herself into her seat. "Where _is_ he?"

Frost looked over at his partner, noticing the wrinkled shirt and the dark circles forming under her eyes, knowing that Jane Rizzoli was not going to rest well until Carson was caught. "It's just a waiting game, Jane," he offered quietly.

"I hate waiting," the raven-haired detective growled back, bringing a smirk to Barry's face.

"Oh, we know that, Jane," he said, trying not to chuckle and not quite succeeding, "we know."

~~~~~ Rizzoli & Isles ~~~~~

The Chief Medical Examiner of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, Maura Isles, sat at her desk reviewing the latest autopsy report for accuracy and clarity. Although Mr. Michael O'Malley had a history of ill health and was under hospice care for pancreatic cancer, Dr. Isles didn't take any shortcuts. Every autopsy that came through her morgue was processed exactly the same way. No death was taken at face-value; even with the obvious.

Maura signed off on the O'Malley death certificate and turned her attention back to the unresolved case at hand. Actually, from the ME's point of view, the death was settled: the mechanism of death was a single bullet to the back of Agnes Carson's head that effectively destroyed her cerebellum and then most of the brain beyond; the manner was murder. Additional evidence on the body was the gun's muzzle imprint on the scalp of the skull where it was pressed before the perpetrator pulled the trigger, a bit of skin under Agnes' left index fingernail, and another imprint—this one of four fingers and a partial palm from a forceful slap—on her right cheek. The only thing of forensic interest at the scene besides the body was the single bloody print from Ronald Carson's left boot, which was discarded along with its mate at the garage door. The doctor wondered if Carson had a second pair of shoes available, or had just fled in his stocking feet, then chided herself for such irrelevant musing. The bullet and muzzle imprint were from a 45 caliber, or similar, handgun. The Carson's had a Glock registered in Agnes' name, but it was nowhere to be found. Preliminary testing showed that the skin under Agnes' fingernail matched her husband's DNA taken from the house; the print on her cheek matched the approximate size of her husband's hand. Flipping through the autopsy report, she noted that all the other physical aspects of the 36-year-old Mrs. Carson were well within healthy, normal parameters. Had she not been murdered, there was no reason to think she wouldn't live a long life.

Although engrossed in the report, Maura lifted her head when she heard the elevator chime. After the quiet swish of the doors opening, she immediately recognized the footfalls of the person walking toward the morgue entry and was rewarded with the distinguished, yet defeated-looking, figure of her best friend at her office door. Maura noted the periorbital hyperpigmentation along with slight edema, the small coffee stain on the front of Jane's shirt collar, as well as the rumpled condition of said shirt and blazer as well. The doctor didn't speak as Jane slumped into the chair across from the ME's desk.

"Hey, Maura," Jane sighed.

The doctor silently observed Jane for a few more seconds before gently inquiring, "From your posture, deep breathing, and general discontent, I conclude that there is no further resolution in the case?"

Jane couldn't help smirking at her friend's comment. "If that means, we don't know _shit_ from shinola about where this guy is, then yeah, you are correct."

Frowning slightly at the language, Maura watched as Jane rolled her shoulders, twisting her neck from side to side. The doctor rose and walked over behind the detective and began massaging her shoulders expertly and comfortingly. "You will find him, Jane. Right now, he's just hiding; when he comes out, you will get him." She continued to press soothing circles with her thumbs on Jane's scapulae, working her way methodically in toward the spine, then outward to her shoulders. Jane allowed her head to fall forward, permitting the doctor to continue her ministrations.

"This is just so frustrating," the detective whined. She closed her eyes, and concentrated on the pressure of the ME's fingers on her back. She breathed deeply, inhaling the light scent of the doctor's perfume mixed with the fancy, slightly nutty, shampoo and the vanilla of body wash. Jane felt her muscles gradually relax. It didn't matter how uptight or stressed she was, talking with or just being with Maura always helped clear her thoughts and soul. It occasionally bothered Jane that Maura had such a calming effect on her, like the doctor was the "Jane Whisperer"; but ultimately, she realized she was just fortunate to have someone like Maura to help balance the turbulence that was Jane Rizzoli's life. Lost in her musings for several long minutes, she barely registered that the doctor had finished her massage and returned to her seat. Abruptly realizing where her thoughts were leading her, the brunette stood, rolling her neck again and smiling gratefully at her friend, "Thanks, that feels so much better." She swung her arms in large circles, then reached around to hug herself, stretching the now relaxed muscles in her back. "Talk to you later."

Maura smiled gently, "Any time, Jane."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Wow, thank you for the follows and faves. I've been writing for years-privately-but never published _anything_ until now. **

**I'm not quite sure where this story is going, but I don't think it's going to be very long. I want to keep most of the focus on our two ladies-with, of course, some interactions with the family. There isn't going to be a "case" to solve, per se.**

 **It is a work in progress, but I've had most of the first 3 chapters drafted for a while... so they will probably get published quickly and then it will slow down as I write fresh.**

Chapter 2

Four days later, Ron Carson finally made a mistake. Apparently thinking that the police wouldn't check for new accounts, he opened a store credit card at a high-end jewelers, and placed an order for an inscribed Rolex. Jane and Frost were waiting for him when he returned to pick it up the next day. He didn't even try to run; he was so surprised. Of course, the detectives didn't think it was easy: over a week of following every possible sighting of both Carson and his vehicle, repeated interviews of all his friends, Frost monitoring the electronic traffic that eventually caught Carson, and Jane driving erratic routes though the city in the dead of night, always finishing in front the home of a certain Medical Examiner before returning to her apartment to attempt sleep.

~~~~~ Rizzoli & Isles ~~~~~

Now that the Carson case was over, Maura faced a dilemma. She was positive that, on two occasions last week, she had seen Jane's car on her street very late. Although it was not entirely unusual for the detective to come over in the middle of the night, awakened by a nightmare or kept awake with a case, seeking Maura's advice or comfort, either of which the doctor freely gave without hesitation. So the first time Maura had happened to look out on the quiet street and saw the unmarked approaching, she went into her en suite, put on pajamas and a robe and went back to the window to watch Jane pull in. She was completely surprised when the Crown Victoria continued past her home and turned away. She wasn't sure it was the detective, in the dim light of the streetlamps, but she thought she could make out a cascade of hair and thin, strong hands gripping the steering wheel. _Perhaps she didn't want to wake me_ , the ME thought. But in the past, Jane _had_ awakened her. Two nights ago, Maura was actually in the kitchen getting a drink of water at 2 o'clock in the morning, once again spotting what she was sure was the detective's car approaching. Moving to the front of the house, she watched Jane (this time, she could see her clearly through the windshield) gazing toward the home, then sighing and shifting her attention forward, before speeding up and away. _Why didn't Jane stop? What was she doing? Was this normal? Was she okay?_

These thoughts were swirling through her mind as Maura sat on her sofa, open medical journal on her lap forgotten, delicately swirling her wine glass in her hand. Soft music was playing from her stereo, unheard. She had left the Dirty Robber's celebration early, coming home under the pretext of an busy schedule for the next day. Rather than getting ready for bed, she was deep in thought about Jane's nocturnal activities. In fact, she had only slipped her shoes off as she sat on the sofa, after preparing the wine and selecting the most recent journal. She brought the glass to her lips, sipping the wine, but barely tasting the bold flavors.

She didn't know what to make of this behavior. Had the detective recently started driving by her home at night? Or was this an ongoing routine that she just hadn't noticed? True, many nights, the pair's day ended together in some form, and the ME was fairly certain the detective didn't do her "drive-by" on those evenings. Maura doubted that this had been a frequent happening over the years of their friendship; she would have happened to notice it, wouldn't she? Had she just not caught Jane in this behavior before? Logically, she realized that if Jane drove by her home in the middle of the night, presumably while Maura was sleeping, there was no way to know how frequent these visits were. But instinctively, what Jane would call her "gut" and she abhorred the idea of _not_ depending on logic, she felt that she hadn't noticed the activity because it was fairly rare.

No, something must have changed recently, and though reluctant to guess, she could hypothesize that the Carson case was the stimulus. The past eleven days had been unusually stressful in several ways for the detective. Carson had been known, but not apprehended. Jane and Barry had been worked later than usual most nights following up on leads and also reviewing patrol reports on Carson's known haunts. There were several evenings the partners had left to interview a clerk or a housewife who called the hotline. Jane was edgier, darker, and moodier while working this case; as if the failure to bring Carson in was her fault. And Maura knew that Jane took the failure to apprehend Ronald Carson personally. The detective often blamed herself, not only for the few cases that went unsolved, but for _any_ delays in closing cases. Maura ruefully considered that Jane would willingly take the blame for murder herself, if it would speed up the cases. Jane was all in, all the time. In fact, during this case, Jane missed two consecutive "Friday Night Movies" at Maura's home and the detective canceled three different meal dates. The doctor also had heard from an irritated Angela Rizzoli about her daughter "ignoring her _only_ mother for weeks!" And while that final item wasn't entirely unusual, as Jane was more likely to forego contact with her mother during a case, the several cancellations with Maura were not the norm, even during heavy workloads. Maura realized that Jane had been more distant from her during this case, than Jane had been since… the detective had shot Paddy Doyle, defending Dean. The doctor internally winced in memory of the pain on Jane's face when Maura had shouted at her to get away.

Yes, the doctor thought, something was atypical. The detective had pulled away from her. _But what was different? And why?_ Maura didn't think it was the case specifically. It was Jane who had changed during this case, during the hunt for Carson. During the chases, and false leads, and the sleepless nights. Mentally, Maura reviewed every conversation she had with the raven-haired detective during the past two weeks. She recalled postures, and tones, and minute muscular facial changes. She thought of the deep sigh from her friend two nights ago, Jane's pale face reflecting both her exhaustion and the weak moonlight, before Jane turned the wheel away from Maura's home. The exhale suggesting a yearning Maura couldn't grasp. In fact, she continued musing, there were several looks that the detective gave her which, in anyone else, Maura would equate with … desire. The more she puzzled on it, past memories of glances directed at her, flipping through her mind in rapid fire precision …. The doctor suddenly sat up, knocking the journal to floor in the process. _Jane looks at me as a lover would_. The thought was startling in both the idea that Jane may be attracted to her, and that, with equal comprehension, she could, also, be attracted to Jane.

While the revelation was staggering, as with any problem, the doctor faced it head on. Putting aside Jane's potential interest, as she couldn't go further in her theory until speaking to the detective, she assessed her own feelings with clinical precision. "Am I attracted to Jane physically?" she asked herself, aloud. She considered her answer carefully. Jane was tall, slim, muscular; more than once, Maura had informed Jane herself of her beauty. She remembered, with a small smile, Jane's uncomfortable, worried look, waiting for Maura's assessment of the dress the detective had donned so long ago, "Don't you know? You are gorgeous, my friend." And the way Jane's face had lit up, both pleased and embarrassed. While Jane's femininity was purposely suppressed because of their field of work, she had an aura of sensuality and gracefulness that Maura deeply admired. Rizzoli moved with a fluidity that seemed to defy gravity, and Maura could not help but appreciate her body. Jane commanded any room she was in, not just because she was beautiful, but because of the force of nature that was Jane Rizzoli. Maura could not help but be swept into the storm. However, now, with these comprehensions, the blonde wondered if she weren't just carried along, but a willing participant in the emotions that Jane awakened in her. Once again reflecting on the past, with a new perspective, memories now seemingly obvious in their disclosures, she stifled a yawn. Her wine glass empty, she absently went to the kitchen to wash it. Still musing, she made her way to the stairs.

Yes, she was attracted to Jane. Now she needed to figure what to do about it.

~~~~~ Rizzoli & Isles ~~~~~

The revelry of the Rizzoli family dinner the following Sunday was partially due to the game on the television featuring the Red Sox against the Yankees and the fact that everyone was in attendance for the first time in several dinners. Korsak, Frost, and even Cavanaugh, had made it to Maura's that afternoon, so with the entire Rizzoli clan accounted for, including Lydia and TJ, the living room was full. Maura worked with Angela in the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on the meal which would be devoured in minutes by the brood.

"Janie!" Angela yelled above the loud roar of protest that came from her daughter, "screaming at the television doesn't do any good!"

"MA!" the annoyed brunette replied from her spot in front of the TV, pointing indignantly at the screen, "the ump totally missed that tag! He-he's prejudiced against the Sox! He must be from New York!" A round of agreement sounded from her brothers with a "Damn Yank!" being heard from Korsak.

"Vincent!" the matriarch hissed at Korsak, who at least had the decency to blush, even as he protested.

"But, Angela," he exclaimed, "he IS!" A cheer from the screen caught his attention again, and the group went back to their relatively peaceful viewing.

Maura observed the exchange and the rest of her family (because that is how she felt about them all) from the sanctuary of the kitchen. Jane, sitting back again, in her "spot" on the sofa, Barry in the middle, Frankie on the opposite end. Tommy leaned on the arm nearest Jane, with a dozing TJ in his arms. The doctor briefly wondered how the baby could sleep through the uproar, but then considered that the infant was probably used to it. Lydia was in the chair nearest Tommy – not saying or doing much of anything. Vince was in the opposite chair, with Cavanaugh pulled up next to him in a kitchen chair. All were fixated on the screen, occasionally reaching for their drinks or snacks on the coffee table. She was happy to see that Jane's eyes were bright and clear, with the dark circles fading. Her team had not caught another case in three days, and while the complaints of boredom were sure to be on the horizon, the break was required for much needed rest.

"Dinner!" Angela called, as she placed the last dish on a hot pad. The stampede from the living room was immediate. Everyone jostled for seats, refilling drinks, and generally settling around the large, but still cramped table. "Pipe down!" Angela fussed, smacking Frankie's hand off the basket of rolls, "We need to say grace first!"

"Grace!" Jane, Tommy, and Frankie yelled in unison, giggling, and Frankie reached again for the bowl.

"Francisco Rizzoli, if you even think about touching that bread before we say a proper grace, you will regret it for the rest of your life," his mother threatened, brandishing a large spoon for effect. The rest of the table snickered and chuckled. Barry elbowed Frankie, earning a glare from the older Rizzoli son. Angela made her way around the table to sit next to Cavanaugh, "Sean, would you do the honors?" She took his hand, and reached for Lydia's hand on the other side of her. Everyone gradually took the hand of the persons beside them, and Cavanaugh began a short benediction.

Sitting next to Maura, holding her hand, Jane bowed her head as Sean started to speak. Glancing surreptitiously at her best friend, the detective was startled to see green eyes looking intently at her. "What?" Jane mouthed silently. Maura merely shook her head slightly and smiled. Squeezing Maura's hand gently, Jane grinned and bowed her head forward once again. Maura listened to Cavanaugh's simple blessing, but her mind was on the woman sitting next to her, and the warmth of the hand in hers. And the grin she had given the doctor. Attracted was not the correct word. _How could I not have seen?_ the doctor thought, stunned by her insight. _How long has Jane… how long has she been in love with me?_


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The family was finally gone, and the kitchen cleaned to Maura's exacting requirements, Jane bellyaching as usual, and making a show of putting precisely one teaspoon of bleach in precisely one quart of water for disinfecting. They settled on the sofa, Jane on her end, Maura the other, feet toward the middle, sharing a throw. Maura had selected a documentary on Netflix that she had actually watched before, because she wanted to be able to observe the detective now that it was just the two of them. She hadn't determined a proper approach to bring up Jane's driving by in the middle of the night. Too soft, and the detective would redirect it jokingly; too hard, Jane would run. After all, Jane wasn't the one bringing the subject to fore. Apparently, she was content with the status quo. _But_ , Maura thought, _the_ _status quo had changed._ Maura now knew about Jane's feelings—supposed feelings, she amended. The doctor intended to get confirmation tonight.

Starting the video, she faced the television slightly, but kept Jane in her peripheral vision. The detective was also shifted toward the screen, but her eyes were on the beer bottle in her hand. Raising it to her lips, she took a long drink. Maura quietly watched tv for several silent minutes, before picking up the remote and pausing the video. "Jane, I want to talk to you about something that happened last week," she began hesitantly, still unsure exactly what she was going to say.

Jane looked up from her bottle, glancing at the frozen image on the television, before turning her attention back to Maura. The blonde was subconsciously chewing on her bottom lip, an indication that she was nervous, and uncertain of how to approach a subject. Jane frowned, trying to figure out if she had done something wrong. For Maura to be uncomfortable broaching a subject usually meant that she was not sure of the social consequences. Setting her beer on the coffee table, Jane sat up further, and reached for Maura's hand. "What is it? Did I do something? I know I wasn't the best company while we were hunting for Carson. I didn't mean-"

"Stop, Jane," the doctor exclaimed, putting her free hand up, then patting the detective's hand over her own, and smiling in spite of herself at the detective's outburst. "You haven't done anything wrong. And I _do_ know how you get on a case, especially a frustrating one…" She trailed off, still not certain how to phrase the next sentence. "It's just, well, I thought—" she broke off, shook her head, and reached for her wine. Taking a large swallow, Maura started again, "I – I saw you driving by my house about 2 o'clock the other night. You didn't stop. And I was wondering if you were okay?" The doctor felt that confirming the activity, rather than starting with the feelings behind it, was safer ground.

Rizzoli slumped back against the arm of the sofa. "Jesus, Maura!" She breathed, semi-relieved, but now uneasy where this conversation was leading. "You scared me for a second there…" she suddenly looked bashful, a blush rising to her cheeks, even as she attempted to bluster it off. "Sit me down, all comfy on the couch with one of your super-stimulating shows," the sarcasm was showing in her tone, "beer and wine, and you say you—" Jane put her hands up, first two fingers bending as if quotation marks, "—want to talk about me driving by your house?" She sighed, and reached for her beer again. Taking a long drink herself, stalling, Jane was trying to decide which tactic to choose: admit to her "rounds" or to make it a singular coincidence. Running her fingers through her dark mane, she opted for the latter. "I was following up on a lead on Carson in—" breaking off suddenly, to think of an appropriate location, "—off Ravenwild Road, which, of course, didn't pan out as you could guess—oh, sorry, you don't guess" she added with a smirk, "and I was heading home and realized that I wasn't too far from yours, so I drove by." Feeling more confident in her story, the detective continued, "Your house was dark, and since I thought you were asleep and not spying on me through the window, I went on home." Finishing her beer, she untucked her feet and rose from the couch. "End of story," she threw over her shoulder as she moved to the kitchen for another beer, and quickly changed the subject. "You need a refill?"

With a clinical eye, the ME viewed the detective's performance. And that is what Maura considered it, a performance. Jane was in full-deflect mode, making light of the situation and putting not only emotional distance between the two of them, but a physical one as well. Maura paused with the sudden realization that she knew Jane's behaviors, and vice versa, almost as intimately as she knew her own. Yes, they had been friends for years now, but the familiarity that each woman had with the other…. Mentally shaking her head, she forced her thoughts back to the detective's reply. The sarcasm and mock quotations were to embarrass the doctor into believing the question was nothing except Maura's active intellect going off on an irrational tangent. And normally, it _would_ be enough to make the doctor backtrack and even apologize, but not tonight. Tonight was not a normal night. Maura was determined to get an answer to the real question of the evening: was Jane in love with her?

Jane came back to the living room, carrying both an opened beer and a fresh glass of wine for Maura. She set the glass down, and rearranged herself onto the sofa, and waved absently to the still paused show. "Are you gonna start that thing or do I have to look at whatever kind of bug that is frozen on screen all night?" She grinned her most impish smile at the doctor, trying to keep Maura's train of thought untracked. Jane really did not want to probe into the reasons behind her "rounds," nor any of the feelings that had surfaced so unexpectedly, and powerfully, over the past few months directed toward the doctor. Jane had always had the type of personality that kept her part of the popular crowd when she was in school, and her extroversion had definitely continued and assisted her as an adult and as a detective. Yes, she had coworkers that didn't like her, but they were almost universally because they didn't feel a woman should be a respected homicide detective. Even Darren Crowe, whom she had more verbal spats with than any other, had reluctantly admitted in his typical chauvinistic ways, that he didn't mind Jane, _herself,_ but the fact that she was considered his equal. But Jane tended to keep people at an "arm's length" when dealing with emotions, even her past relationships and lovers were never allowed into the inner sanctum of Jane Rizzoli. So, while Jane had always had many casual and close friends over the course of her life, she had never had anyone as remotely close to her as Maura had become, not even her brother, Frankie. In fact, he was a distant second in terms of intimacy—ugh, why did she have to think of _that_ term.

As they both wordlessly sipped on their drinks, each woman considered the other. Maura absently started the show again, allowing the Buprestis aurulenta to finally finish crossing the camera's view. She blatantly observed Jane: starting with her unruly hair, high forehead, and guarded, dark chocolate eyes… moving down to high cheekbones bordering the straight, thin nose. Briefly considering how many times Jane had come to her with a nasal fracture, she was impressed that the detective's facial features had not been permanently disfigured. She continued downward, as Jane took another sip of beer, to observe pink lips pursed around the bottle, and the contraction of her throat with each swallow. She could see the pulse beating strongly, then settled her vision on the faint scar just above the jugular on the left. Maura felt overwhelmed with emotion, recalling the events leading up to the injury that gave Jane that scar, subconsciously stroking the matching one on her own neck.

Jane watched as the doctor's eyes moved from the top of her head, to her eyes, nose, lips and throat. She could feel a faint blush building at the scrutiny, but she didn't fidget or distract Maura from her inspection. Time slowed as Jane considered her feeling for the woman before her. When had the doctor become so intertwined in her life? Jane knew she was falling in love with Maura, but she resisted. The detective was afraid that if their relationship changed, the very thing that made it so special would be lost—and she couldn't bear that. But as she stared at Maura, she could see the affection, admiration, and yes, love, in the doctor's gaze as she catalogued each feature. When the green eyes darkened over in anguish, and Jane saw Maura's fingers ghost over the slim scar on her own neck, the detective had to break the quiet. "Hey," she whispered softly, reaching once again for the ME's free hand, encouraging Maura to look up, "Hoyt will never hurt us again." The doctor smiled at Jane's immediate concern.

"I know," she acknowledged. "It's just a bad memory." But even as she spoke, the recollection still vivid in her mind, she realized that Jane had been defeated, was giving up, until Hoyt threatened the doctor. It was only then that Jane fought with renewed passion, head-butting the guard, and ripping Hoyt off her. Maura's eyes filled again, but this time in wonder, Jane had loved her even then.

The detective still held Maura's hand, as pain, distress, and then adoration flittered over Maura's countenance. "You saved me," the doctor breathed.

The moment was getting entirely too intense for the brunette beauty. Jane was uncomfortable, both in her own thoughts and under Maura's focused scrutiny. Shifting and shrugging, she tried on a smile that came out more a grimace, distracting with, "Well, yeah, duh, Maur! You are my best friend. If I let Hoyt kill you, I would have to break in a new one, and I have you trained already." She didn't stop the playful chuckle at her own absurdity—there would never be another to replace Maura Isles.

The doctor grinned in spite of herself, unable to resist frisky Jane, and retorted, "Yes, well, I have you fairly house-broken, also, detective, so it would be problematic for me to—as you put it—'train' a replacement." She stroked the back of Jane's hand, purposefully, before letting go and sitting more upright. She leaned forward and placed both the television remote and her wine glass on the coffee table. Catching the detective's eyes again, she pressed the conversation forward, "So, you drove by the other night because it was on your way home, but what about last week?"

~~~~~ Rizzoli & Isles ~~~~~


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I saw a few minor grammar and punctuation errors on Chap 3 when I read through online. My OCD won't let me leave it alone-so I've re-loaded it (if anyone can tell me if I can edit after publishing, that'd be great). And adding the following chapter for your perusal. Hope you enjoy.**

Chapter 4

There were many aspects of Jane Rizzoli that Maura loved: the gruff detective bound to get justice, the dutiful daughter and sister so loyal to her family, the constant friend, the paramount jokester, and a list too long to, well, list. But she had to admit to herself, that flustered Jane was one of her favorite "Janes." The doctor couldn't help the grin on her face as she watched Jane's expression flit from confused, to suspicious, to perplexed, and settling on what could only be described as ruffled.

"I—what—" the detective stuttered, before clamping her mouth shut. She stared at Maura with undisguised exasperation. With an unsteady hand, she also placed her drink on the table, so she wouldn't embarrass herself further by spilling it in her lap, and to give herself a few cherished seconds to collect her wits. She should have known that the doctor was setting her up for something more than one simple question. Actually, she did feel that there was going to be more to their conversation than the doctor had broached up to that point. Maura hadn't reached the real subject, yet. The subject that Jane could tell the ME was still tip-toeing her confidence up to. But, she was caught completely off-guard that Maura had observed a second (or rather, previous) "rounds." She thought that she had deflected the subject well, and that the doctor was moving on, when Maura suddenly shot that down with such a simple question. Jane knew she could give a similar answer about it being on the way home from a lead, but she really didn't like outright lying to Maura—especially after she'd basically been caught doing it. Therefore, there was only one thing to do, come clean to her friend. But question remained, how clean? Even though she knew Maura was starting a conversation, Jane didn't know the true topic of discussion. She recalled the surprise in the blonde's eyes at dinner when the lieutenant was saying grace. Jane had been thinking that Maura was her saving grace, her constant, and how much she loved the quirky, beautiful doctor. And how those feelings were changing, becoming more than just a friendship love. And she had squeezed Maura's hands and grinned at her when Maura looked up, and all of a sudden Maura had looked—well, shocked—before she recovered to smile back. And the detective was almost afraid of what Maura had seen in that moment.

Maura had asked her question and waited passively, the smile on her face the only indication that she knew she had put the detective on high alert and put the ball firmly over the goal, or in the basket… no, put the ball in Jane's court! She silently congratulated herself on the correct idiom, if Jane hadn't been in such a distracted state, Maura would have bragged to her about it. However, the ME remained quiet, waiting for Jane to decide where their conversation would go—either forward, or back.

Taking a deep breath, and reaching once again for her beer bottle, Jane took a deep breath. "I—" her voice graveled out. She paused and took a swig of the amber liquid, cleared her throat, and tried again, "You know I worked with my dad doing plumbing work when I was a kid?" At Maura's nod, she continued, "I worked really young, twelve-thirteen years old. We always had enough money for basics, but if I wanted anything extra, I had to earn it. So, I worked with Pop until I was old enough to drive, and then I got a car—a $200 beater that I found on the side of the road with a sign in the window—and I got a job at Barney's, this hole-in-the-wall diner in Southie." She paused, looking up to meet Maura's eyes. "You want to hear this?"

"If it explains why you were driving past my house in the dead of night, yes," the doctor answered immediately. "You know you can tell me anything, Jane," she encouraged further.

" 'Kay, then I need another beer," the brunette replied, finishing her beer in a gulp, and standing, motioning to the screen, "and why don't you turn the bugs off?" She started toward the kitchen as Maura chuckled about the "bugs," and reached once again for the remote. "Do you need anything while I'm up?" Jane called over her shoulder.

While the show hadn't been on very loud, the silence was suddenly deafening. "A bottle of water would be great, thanks," she answered, then queried, "Do you want me to turn on some music?" She was afraid the detective would be forced to speak in the quiet. In fact, she remembered one of Jane's interrogation tactic was to simply wait until the suspect had to talk, to fill the void. She didn't want this conversation to feel coerced in any way.

"That sounds good—don't get up," Jane ordered as she returned to the living room. She handed Maura a cold bottle of water, then went to fiddle with the stereo. Within a few seconds, soft music was filling the background. Maura smiled at the volume, Jane intended to continue talking; this break was a chance for her to gather her bearings and decide what to say, not to shut down and change the subject.

Back at the sofa, the detective sat leaning forward, elbows on her knees. She took a long pull off the fresh beer, then set it, once again, on the coffee table. "Anyway, I worked at Barney's through most of high school. I worked a lot, three or four nights after school, and all day Saturdays, Sundays." She glanced sideways at Maura who had barely breathed waiting for Jane to continue, and chortled. "You got me talking, Maur. I will _keep_ talking. You can move, ya know."

The doctor laughed back, and shifted her legs some. "I just didn't want to distract you."

Nodding, Jane once again leaned back and turned her shoulders to face Maura better. "When I got off work most nights," she continued, "it was 10-11 o'clock and of course I had school the next morning, and usually had homework to finish, too—but I was too hyped from being at work to go straight home. So, I drove." She stopped, remembering those late nights, being tired and wired, usually smelling of old grease, uniform stained with ketchup, spaghetti sauce, or God knew what. Smiling wistfully, "And I found myself driving "rounds"—going by friends' homes, the school, the church, maybe Pop's latest jobsite—just, checking things out, making sure that everything was okay. I already knew I wanted to be a cop, I'd known that since I could practically walk, so I felt like I was on a beat, ya know? Doing my patrol." She looked up sharply at Maura to see if the doctor would make fun of her, and only found acceptance and understanding in the green eyes. Jane realized that Maura wouldn't ridicule her; it wasn't in her nature, for one, but also, the ME could never hurt Jane that way. Her thoughts drifted a bit over the past and in every dispute recalled, minor or major, Maura's anger was always directed at the problem, never Jane.

Seeing Jane's self-conscious blush, and the quick look toward her, Maura made her expression as open as she could, so that Jane would only see the validation she felt. She could picture a teenage Rizzoli, going to school all day, then going to work half the night, and still maintaining grades high enough to be accepted to Boston College. She imagined the younger Jane, seriously taking the responsibility for her world and not being able to rest until she was assured that all was secure. A soft smile played around her lips as she realized that Jane had not changed one bit since then—and Maura didn't want her to. The detective's protectiveness toward her family, friends, and Maura, particularly, was one of the most comforting feelings in Maura's life, and she had never sensed it until she received it from Jane Rizzoli.

Both women continued to look deeply in the other's eyes as they both reflected over the friendship they shared. The silence lingered on, but not uneasily, gently broken by the muted music. Breaking the contact, Jane took another swallow and breathed deeply. "So, yeah. My rounds. When I got in the Academy, and even after I was in patrol and patrolled all day, any time I just had to settle my brain, I would do rounds. My friends changed. I moved out of Ma and Pop's, Frankie moved out. The places important to me changed. It was like I had to, ya know? Especially when I felt the most out of control—the most lost—" Jane's voice caught in the emotional admission, "—after Hoyt…. I would drive. Sometimes drive all night, just circles and circles… " she let the sentence drift off, and bravely redirected her gaze to Maura. "I think they saved my sanity," she admitted in a whisper, "my rounds. If I wasn't able to see that the rest of my world was okay, I—I really think…. " she trailed off, not willing to admit out loud how often she considered suicide in the aftermath of Hoyt, even before she would have been able to hold her gun properly.

Maura leaned forward to rub Jane's knee. Rizzoli's first encounter with Hoyt had happened just before the doctor took over as Chief Medical Examiner. In fact, Jane was still on medical leave when Maura was hired. But, that didn't stop the police grapevine from giving Maura all the gruesome details; and the blonde, herself, knew that that one of the reasons the prior Chief left was because of the Hoyt victims. In her line of work, she had witnessed horrible, horrible things: human bodies mangled beyond recognition, dead children and babies, the stench of burnt flesh and decay. Yet, she was insulated from the evil that created her clients; Jane wasn't so lucky. The detective's job purposefully sought the evil, and sometimes, the evil won. Charles Hoyt prided himself in his evilness; and he had nearly beaten Jane, not just once, but three times before he was finally defeated. However, even in death, Hoyt frequently reached out to Jane, bringing terror in her sleep, nightmares from which there was no escape. Yes, Maura could understand Jane's need to see order and peace after escaping from the chaos and cacophony of horrific dreams. The doctor tried to convey all this empathy to Jane in the soft touch of a hand on a knee, rubbing soothingly, softly. She waited patiently in the quiet for the detective to continue.

Several minutes passed before Jane seemed to shake herself, and then focused on the light touch on her leg. She wasn't ready to look up into Maura's eyes yet, but she knew that the doctor's gaze would hold only understanding and love. The brunette, once again, was surprised at her previous candor with the doctor about Hoyt. She used to think since the doctor hadn't been present for the original case, Jane felt less victimized by talking to Maura about her fears, and the night terrors. She also justified entrusting in Maura as a valid method of seeking help, but on her terms—not her mother's, the department's, or anyone else's. But that wasn't it, and Jane knew it. The detective rarely confided in anyone, and certainly not her greatest demons after just a few months of friendship. The word "intimate" returned to her consciousness, but instead of rejecting it, Jane considered it honestly. And grudgingly admitted to herself that her relationship with Maura _was_ intimate. In fact, her relationship with Maura was the most intimate relationship she had ever had with anyone.

The detective finally looked up into green eyes, finding what she had known she'd find. "And, well… anyway," she stumbled back into her narrative. "I haven't felt the need to do rounds that much in the past few years. But I have done them, and I have driven by your house," she smiled ruefully, "you just didn't catch me until now." Pausing, Jane took a large swallow of beer and took a deep breath, "I don't think I've needed them as much…" she focused her gaze directly on Maura, "… since I met you."

~~~~~ Rizzoli & Isles ~~~~~


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Sorry for the delay, this chapter *really* didn't want to cooperate-and life of course interfered. Thanks for the reviews, follows and faves.**

Chapter 5

Maura hardly dared to breathe as Jane spoke, trying to decide precisely what the detective was trying to say—if she was confessing her feelings for Maura, or if she was just acknowledging the depth of their friendship. The doctor would not guess; she would wait for Jane to actually speak the words. But she felt like she should contribute to the discussion, to make it less a confession from Jane's side and more a shared exchange. But before she could decide what to say, Jane continued.

"Since you've come into my life, Maura, I guess… you've been my 'rounds,'" the detective said in sudden revelation to herself. "I haven't needed them as much because I've had you to talk to, bounce my ideas off of, or to keep me from running off half-cocked. For the first time in my life, I have someone—YOU—that I trust enough with my thoughts, no matter how jumbled and rambling they might be." She continued looking directly at Maura, holding her gaze with her own chocolate eyes. "And when I was driving during the Carson case, I began to realize…." She trailed off, suddenly uncertain. What exactly did she begin to realize? That Maura was not just a friend, not just a best friend, not just the most important… Wow, did she really think that? Jane considered thoughtfully. Yes, Maura _was_ the most important person in her life, and had been for longer than Jane could actually remember when the change occurred.

She thought back to their stilted first meeting in the cafeteria line, when Maura didn't know who she was, back in Vice while still technically recovering from Hoyt, but medically cleared. How Maura had thought Jane to be a streetwalker with no money; but even then, offering cash and some uninvited advice, all in the spirit of kindness. The next time they had met face to face was Jane's first day back in Homicide and the detective had gone to the morgue, both to pick up a report and to meet the new ME that everyone had nicknamed "The Queen of the Dead." The gossip concerning Maura had hardly been flattering, and Jane was prepared to meet someone less appetizing than Dr. Pike. So, opening the door to the examining room and seeing the doctor across the room, straightening instruments on a tray next to a cloth-covered body, Jane mistook her for a tech or an intern.

" _Oh, sorry," she said, "I was told the new ME was in here," as she began to back out, to go to the Medical Examiner's private office._

" _I'm Dr. Isles," Maura's voice caught her before the door closed. "What can I do for you, uh…" she trailed off, recognizing the 'hooker' from a few weeks ago. "Do you have a reason to be in the morgue, miss?"_

" _I'm Detective Rizzoli—Jane Rizzoli," the brunette walked toward the petite blonde woman, smirking slightly at the 'miss.' "Hey, you're the one that tried to give me money in the cafeteria!" The smirk grew larger, "You thought I was a prostitute!"_

" _Well, of course, I did," the doctor returned, seriously. "Your clothing, make-up, … you-your shoes! What was I supposed to think?" Even then, Jane could see the uncertainty in the doctor's eyes about her social miscues. "You exhibited all the traits—"_

"— _I certainly hope so, since I was, you know, undercover," Jane couldn't help that first smile at the doctor. "I assure you, though, I'm really a detective, back in homicide. And I'm here for the O'Leary report, if it's ready."_

 _The doctor seemed a bit disconcerted, as if she couldn't reconcile her initial impression of Jane with the reality of this meeting. "I—of course," she stammered, slightly. "I called Detective Korsak about the file—" glancing at the clock on the wall "—twenty-two minutes ago."_

 _Once again, a grin was threatening to run away with Jane's face. "And I've been down here for about 15 of those 22 minutes now."_

" _Oh! Yes, I'm sorry!" Maura blushed as she went to the far counter to pick up a folder. "I was expecting Detective Korsak or Detective Frost—I'm very sorry for any offense—"_

" _It's all good, doc," Jane interrupted, taking the offered file. "See ya around."_

Jane smile at the memory that the knee-high patent leather boots with the 4-inch heel seemed to be the most offensive thing to the doctor about Jane's undercover identity, not the actual role as a hooker. The next day, Maura had surprised Jane at her desk with a take-out salad and bottle of water for lunch. The day after that, Jane reciprocated. And the standing lunch 'date' – as well as a deep friendship – was born.

"I let you be who you need to be," Maura said boldly, interrupting Jane's musing, once again sitting up, reaching for Jane's right hand, and interlocking their fingers firmly. "And, you let me be who I am, who I need to be. I don't have to consider which words to say, or how to behave, when I'm with you. I can just be myself; and I think you know that you can just be yourself, also." She reigned herself in, realizing she was talking circular logic. "It's not unusual that two people, particularly women in predominantly male-centric occupations, find that it is more comfortable to entrust in each other rather compete. And in confiding, they may find a degree of security in the relationship –"

"I was just thinking that," the detective admitted. "I was remembering the first time we met—well, _both_ first times we met." Both women smiled at the memories. "I let you in so fast, Maura," the confession was quiet, but heartfelt. "I don't let anyone in. And you've seen some of the worst, darkest…." Jane trailed off, not wanting to complete the thought, but also knowing that she didn't need to. And, that was something else about Maura: the doctor always seemed to know what Jane needed—sometimes before the detective knew herself. Like the impromptu massage Maura had given Jane when the Carson case was wearing on her last nerve, Jane hadn't said anything about her shoulders being in knots, but the blonde had just known. "I haven't even told Frankie a… a third of the things I've shared with you, and he's always been there for me." Jane looked up earnestly, holding Maura's gaze with her own. "You know me well enough to know that I push people away. So how—why did I let you in? What is it about you—you and me—" Jane shook her head in frustration. "I'm so good at figuring out other people's motives, and exposing their vulnerabilities to get them to confess. Why can't I figure out my own motives?"

Doctor Isles carefully considered Jane's questions, weighing and rejecting the possibility that the brunette was speaking rhetorically. However, she wasn't sure at what level Jane wanted answers. Jane was truly evaluating their relationship, and questioning her motives for beginning the friendship? For maintaining it and nurturing it? For changing it? Which? Maura was uncertain, and that left her unable to respond, even though she felt the detective wanted her to. In fact, the doctor grasped suddenly, she had seen Jane use this specific style of questioning in interrogation, when she didn't know the witness/suspect's actual role in the murder she was investigating. She decided to call Jane on it.

"Using your interrogation techniques on me isn't going to get answers any more quickly, Jane," the doctor said, straightening her shoulders and letting go of the detective's hand. Jane at least had the decency to look ashamed, but Maura didn't know what conclusions the detective had already drawn. "I have a suggestion," she ventured, "why don't you ask me a question that you want me to answer directly. No misdirection, no misunderstandings."

After an initial surprise at the suggestion, Jane nodded, "Okay. Okay, yeah." She reached for Maura's hand again, grasping it tightly in her own, like her life depended on it. And with the next question, the detective recognized that her life would change from here on out.

"Uh—Have—Have you ever," Jane stammered over the first couple of words internally mocking herself, _Jesus, Rizzoli, get a grip!_ She swallowed, and tried again, "ummm, where do you see our rela—our friendship in the next few years?"

Smirking slightly at the detective's "Freudian slip," Maura considered the question carefully, knowing her answer could, and probably _would_ , change their relationship. She rubbed Jane's knuckles subconsciously, as she began to slowly speak.

"Like you, I had never had any close female friends—or actually any close friends at all. I had colleagues, I had co-workers, I had classmates, I had acquaintances, I had lovers, but never friends. But, I was okay with that, really. I had my career, I had a social schedule, there weren't many days or nights where I was alone. But I was lonely," Maura admitted quietly, looking down at their intertwined hands. Now _Jane_ was the one rubbing soft circles in the doctor's palm. "When I met you—the second time, in the morgue—I felt something that I'd never felt from another human being before: acceptance. You accepted me on face value, so to speak. You didn't know me, other than from the rude woman who had tried to give you money, but it was like you immediately set aside that assumption and looked at me, just me, as a person. Yes, you were there as a detective seeking the Medical Examiner; but you saw me as a person first, not a title. I can't explain it precisely, because it was more a sensation—"

"Your gut," Jane interrupted.

Laughing, and meeting Jane's eyes again, "My intestines had nothing to do with it, thank you very much!" But then she shrugged. "I don't know what it was. But I brought you lunch the next day, and I had never presumed to bring anyone a meal without knowing their preferences, their allergies… but I did. And you thanked me and smiled at me, like I was the kindest person in the world..." The doctor trailed off, reminiscing about the feeling of contentment the detective instilled in her, even now.

"You are, you know," Jane said, breaking Maura's reverie, "You are the kindest person in the world. I have never met anyone like you, and probably never will again." She squeezed the blonde's hand firmly, "But you haven't answered the question…"

"I'm getting there," Maura smiled again. "I just had to give you some background from my point of view." She took a deep breath and picked up, "Anyway, we just became 'us,' lunch partners, work partners, friends, and best friends, so quickly, like a whirlwind. But we are good as 'us' and I would never want to chance harming 'us.'"

Even though Jane's expression barely changed, Maura could see the disappointment begin to fill the brunette's eyes, thinking that Maura was saying that she wanted them to remain best friends, and not change. And in that instant, Maura knew that Jane felt the same way the doctor herself felt, that their friendship was evolving into a relationship of a different sort. The disappointment in Jane's brown eyes confirmed it more convincingly than any words could speak it. However, Maura knew that Jane held to a philosophy of "seeing is believing," a great deal of which made her such an excellent detective. Jane didn't jump to conclusions unless the evidence supported it; Jane didn't confront a suspect until the evidence pointed to them. And while sometimes the evidence was misleading, far more times than not, Jane's adamant stand on following the evidence and her own instincts led to the correct conclusion of the case.

"In a lot of ways, we are very alike," Maura began again, trying to ground the detective in the positives. "We both have a very strong sense of justice, we both look to facts for guidance, and we are both strong personalities in our fields. And, we are different in several ways, too. I try to keep my emotions out of my analysis; you go with your 'gut.'" A smirk from the brunette encouraged her to continue, "I try to eat healthy, and you eat the burgers at the Robber. I use yoga to settle my emotions and to calm myself; you punch a canvas dummy. I—"

The doctor was cut off suddenly by the detective leaning forward to capture Maura's lips in a gentle, yet deliberate, kiss. In terms of kisses, this one was nothing spectacular. It lasted a mere 2.25 seconds, neither woman opening their mouths to the other, barely enough of a kiss to register to the ME, even as Jane pulled back just far enough to look deeply in her eyes. The brunette's expression was decidedly sheepish, even as a small smile played around her lips, "I—I've… I've wanted to do that ever since…. Well, a while now," Jane stuttered quietly, bringing up her left hand to softly stroke Maura's cheek.

To say Maura was stunned silent was an understatement. Never in her wildest hypotheses had she believed that Jane would take the initiative and move their relationship forward. This entire evening had been about the doctor leading the detective into the conversation, and, Maura believed, practically forcing Jane to confess that the brunette had feelings for her. But Jane had surprised her, once again, by kissing her, unprompted and unexpected, but definitely not unwelcome. And she was literally dumbfounded. Yet, in the back of her mind, she realized the longer she remained silent, unmoving, unspeaking, the quicker Jane would—

The detective abruptly stood up and moved away, grabbing her beer bottle from the table (when had she put it down?), heading for the kitchen, retreating so swiftly that Maura felt she had blinked only once and Jane was gone. And if Maura didn't speak now, immediately, the detective would be really gone, out the door and into the night. "Jane!" Maura practically shouted, rising herself, following. "Jane, I'm sorry, I was just—"

"It's okay, Maur," Jane cut her off, turning from the sink where she had dumped the last of her beer out, toward the garbage can. "I was out of line. I'm the one that is sorry, I should never have…." She trailed off dejectedly. "I should go." Jane side-stepped to go around Maura, but the doctor caught her arm.

"No, Jane," she cried, grabbing the detective's other arm and forcing Jane to face her. "No, you are not out of line. You just surprised me, shocked me. I never thought you would—you would kiss me—"

"Yeah, I'm sorry—" the detective began again, having barely heard Maura's words.

"Jane! Jane, listen to me," Maura held firmly to the brunette's forearms, stepping closer to Jane, and forcing Jane to take an involuntary step back, placing them both in the kitchen, between the island and the sink. "You surprised me, but you didn't overstep. I just wasn't expecting you to kiss me… but I wanted you to, Jane. I've wanted you to kiss me for a long time."

This time Maura's words registered to the detective, and she looked down into Maura's eyes to see if the doctor was being truthful. _Duh, Rizzoli_ , she internally chided herself, _this is Maura, the woman who can't lie without breaking out in hives for days_. And as she had known, all she saw reflected in green eyes was love, and compassion, and desire, and … a little bit of fear. As the two stared at each other, both of them cataloging the emotions being shown so openly, Jane unhurriedly moved her hands to rest at Maura's hips, and the doctor slid her arms up to encircle the detective's neck. Gradually, barely moving, they inched closer, Maura raising her chin up to meet Jane halfway. As their lips met for the second time, they both closed their eyes.

 **A/N: I'm really tempted to finish this here. It *feels* done. What do you think?**


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